Of Túrin and Beleg
by entmaiden1495
Summary: Beleg was not really slain by Túrin, who nevertheless thinks him dead. But perhaps Beleg living will mean an even worse doom for the son of Húrin, who unbeknownst to even himself, loves Beleg Cúthalion. In the story told here, renowned are the deeds, but there is no song or tale which contains all the grief.
1. Chapter 1

This story is chronological but has many flashbacks. Rated T for implied sex (yes, implied, sorry) and torture (thanks Morgoth), suicide, incest, blood and any other things you would expect in a story about the characters of the Children of Hurin. It is an alternate version of the Turin story in keeping with the tragic tone and theme of self-fulfilling prophecies, curses, Dooooom, and more fun things of that nature. Also I decided that Morgoth created homophobia lol. Footnotes mostly used to point out Tolkien quotes or give information based on the source material.

Of Túrin and Beleg

The cold light that followed the thunderclap poured down from the heavens, and Túrin saw the form of him whom he had slain before him, and it was no orc, but Beleg, pierced by his own sword Anglachel, who now lay with bitter malice in Túrin's hand. Túrin wept and cast himself upon the form of the Elf, the sword forgotten at his side, and his bonds that were now cut. He clutched Beleg's lifeless hand and pressed kisses to his brow. Again and again he called his beloved friend's name, but Beleg's eyes were shut against the rain that poured down and the man's tears. Túrin pressed a kiss to Beleg's lips in farewell, not even perceiving how great the love was that he carried in his heart.[i] The cold lips of Beleg Cúthalion cut him to the core like a knife.

The warnings of Gwindor could not move him for a time, and lost he appeared, as if in a daze over Beleg's fallen body. Grey mists moved about him and covered his eyes, and only wrath would part them. He looked up to the dark sky and cursed Fate through his grief.

"Morgoth!" he cried, "I would that thou had devised it so that he had slain me, and not caused me to do this evil deed! How cruel is Fate that he most beloved should die by my own misguided hand? I shall have revenge upon thee, even if by it I come to my own death!"

As orcs drew near, drawn by his fell cries, he took up Anglachel. Again the lightning flashed upon the Mountains of Terror. A dark rage burned in Túrin's eyes and he cried with fury as he ran towards his enemies. The piles of dead grew around him until he and Gwindor were driven back and forced to flee. But Anglachel was not quenched.

Tears of anger and sorrow ran down Túrin's face, but when they ceased, he was silent and cold as if under an evil spell. He followed Gwindor wordlessly as they journeyed south from Taur-nu-Fuin between the shadows of the pines. He slept little and murmured in his sleep. Gwindor offered Túrin food, but the man refused it angrily and remained silent, and for many days they continued thus. At last they came to the Pools of Ivrin below Mountains of Shadow and Túrin slept fitfully upon the ground. His thoughts were filled with a great darkness and the haze of dreams, for the spell of grief was still upon him.

Through the gloom he saw the tall form of a man or Elf approach, and he saw that his face was dark with grief and pain. He heard Beleg's voice and immediately recognized the figure to be the same, so changed was he by despair that Túrin's eyes had not at first seen the face of his old companion. Still fair Beleg looked, and yet his eyes were dark as he took Túrin's hands behind him and bound them tightly.

"All that is touched by thy hand is touched too by thy doom, and so destroyed, Túrin son of Hurin," Beleg whispered. And Túrin understood that if he were to touch Beleg, the dream would end. He gazed with longing at Beleg's face.

The Elf reached out a hand to stroke Túrin's brow, and the man leaned into it and closed his eyes. He felt the dream of Beleg lift his chin gently. Then Beleg's lips pressed against his, and Túrin finally understood what his heart desired and would only now show him in sleep. He opened his mouth and kissed Beleg fiercely as the Elf pressed him down on his back.

"Beleg," he pleaded, not knowing for what he begged, whether it was for his beloved friend to return to him from death, or for himself to have known of his love in the forest of Doriath when it seemed no doom had been laid yet upon him. He knew with the clarity of dreaming that he loved Beleg more than any other, and cursed himself and rued the day that he had refused Beleg returning to Doriath. Nor would the Elf now ever know of his love, or return it.

The dream of Beleg replied to his plea by kissing his neck and undoing the fastenings of his tunic. He pressed his lips to Túrin's bared chest. The man leaned forward and pressed his lips to Elf's pale tawny hair. Beleg looked up and met Túrin's lips again, more urgently, and never had Túrin known such pleasure and pain as now for the loss and touch of the one whom he so loved.

"Túrin, my beloved," Beleg whispered sadly, "thou knowest I would follow thee even to a second death."

He kissed Túrin's mouth for the third time and the man moaned under his gentle caresses. Beleg made love to Túrin then under the clouded skies of the Pools of Ivrin, and knew that Túrin returned his love, for he was not of the making of Túrin's dreams, but Beleg Cúthalion, returned as it seemed from death by Túrin's hand.

* * *

For Morgoth had perceived from afar the son of Hurin's love for Beleg the Elf as he knelt to kiss his slain comrade, and a dark plan had awoken in his heart.

But Beleg was not killed, and had fall under a swoon and responded not to Túrin's cries by some witchcraft. Then the fated kiss Túrin pressed to his mouth, and Beleg felt the phantom of it upon his cold lips, and clung to the memory waking in the dark hell of Angband where only Túrin's vanished touch was a safeguard against pain. There he witnessed endless torture as Túrin stumbled through the dark woods haunted with the grief of his death, be it in error.

As he lay upon the cold stone floor of his prison, wracked with pain, Beleg slipped into dreams and memories from a life that was now past.

* * *

In the northern marches of Doriath he had first loved Túrin. He remembered the look in the mortal's grey eyes as they gazed through the woods at their outpost. So bright and strong Túrin had seemed, just come to manhood, and Beleg could not imagine that one day the flame of life in Túrin's eyes would be choked out.

"Why didst thou follow me, Beleg?" Túrin asked.

The Elf turned aside. "For my love for thee, son of Hurin, I would follow thee even to death." But for some reason unknown he hid his innermost thought from Túrin as the man looked at him, and a feeling of foreboding overcame him lest the mortal perceive the true extent of his love.

"I am glad for it, for I love thee also, and would not be parted even if I were to someday leave Doriath." Túrin's voice faltered with the mention of his fate but in his eyes was the same fell grey light that Beleg had often seen burning there, and the Elf had known then that one day this very thing would come to pass.

* * *

They were indeed parted with Túrin's abandonment of Doriath, and after the death of Saeros, Beleg had sought Túrin in the wild. At the hands of Túrin's men Beleg suffered ere the man returned in wrath to find his friend bound by his own men. Beleg begged him to return to Doriath but Túrin refused, his pride and anger shielding his eyes.

That night Beleg had stood by the fire, facing the dark. A great sadness chilled his heart, and yet he was comforted by their old friendship.

"What are thy thoughts, friend?" Túrin murmured.

"Once more, wouldst thou come with me?" Beleg asked, yet he knew it was hopeless.

"Nay!" Túrin cried, "I have told thee my answer. I cannot return—I will not!" Beleg remained silent. "Come," Túrin whispered, and his tone was softer and it surprised the Elf. "Can we not again sit side by side as friends? Or dost thou no longer love me?"

Beleg's heart was stung by these words and he turned his head aside. "How foolish is thy human heart, Túrin!" he cried, and Túrin was stunned, for Beleg rarely lost his temper.

"Then dost thou still love me?" Túrin pressed impatiently.

"Aye, too much," the Elf lamented, and stopped himself from speaking further.

"Stay with me then. I am sorry that my men thought thou wert our enemy—it pained me so to see thee—"

"It matters not."

"Stay with me then," Túrin repeated. "If thou lovest me—"  
"Aye," the Elf murmured. "For if I stayed beside thee, love would lead me, not wisdom."[ii]

"Stay, Beleg—I beg thee—It will be like things were before, in Doriath, and none will dare oppose us!" the mortal urged, and the fell light rose in his eyes.

Beleg's eyes flashed as he gazed into the darkness and he looked not at the man. "But what of me, Túrin? Am I to follow thee like a dog, going whither thou asks me forever? Is that the Fate of Beleg Cúthalion?"

"I will not force thee to remain, if my presence is so torturous!" Túrin shouted angrily, standing up in front of the blazing fire.

Still Beleg did not turn to look back at him. "Then farewell, Túrin son of Hurin. Torture I have already received. Farewell." He saw not the pain and loss on Túrin's young face.

"Beleg, thou woundest me with thy words!"  
Beleg spoke then and his voice was cold. "There are other griefs in Middle-earth than thine, and wounds made by no weapon. Indeed, I begin to think that Elves and Men should not ever meet or meddle."[iii]

"Aye!" Túrin yelled. "They say that just as it is wrong for a man to lay beside a man, it is wrong for a man to befriend an Elf!" he shouted after him.

And his unwitting words wounded Beleg's heart all the more, for in that moment the Elf knew that Túrin would never return the same love that he held in his heart, that was not the love of friendship. Though it was uncommon for an Elf to wed with the same sex, it was not shameful as it was for men. And Beleg feared that if Túrin had seen into his heart then, he would have been ashamed.

The Elf went into the darkness with sorrow in his heart for his love unrequited, and knew too that he would indeed return to Túrin's side. He cursed his traitor heart which loved this mortal, and though he parted with Túrin, he saw now that the path he walked led inevitably towards him, all the same, through the shadows.

* * *

In the Battle of Unnumbered Tears Beleg had fought beside Mablung of the Heavy Hand, his friend and comrade in arms. In those days valor and renown he had sought with his companion, and thought not of love. Near the long battle's ending Hurin the Steadfast was captured by Morgoth and cursed by his malice, and so too was Beleg unknowingly cursed.

"Dost thou ever plan to wed?" Mablung asked him as they stood watch together.

Beleg shrugged. "I know not," he muttered. "Dost thou?"

"Aye," sighed Mablung, "For as thou knowest, there is one who is as fair as sunlight upon the leaves of Doriath, who walks as light as spring in the woods, and her voice is as clear as the Esgalduin…"

Beleg laughed. "Do not abandon me to become a poet, for we have need of warriors to defend the borders of Doriath!"

"Aye, I know," Mablung replied, grinning. But as Beleg looked away, his friend thought he saw in his eyes the same longing that he felt for his beloved maiden, but spoke not of it, for he knew Beleg would not wish him to do so.

* * *

In the spring Beleg returned as if drawn back by his doom. He stood at the edge of the camp, looking with wistful happiness upon Túrin's form. The man's dark hair was longer and now fell past his shoulders. With a sad smile upon his lips, Beleg watched the mortal giving his men orders.

At last they spotted the Sindarin Elf and shouted. Túrin's face dawned with gladness slowly as a winter morning departing at the sunrise. He faltered, and then overcame the thought of their past grievances and, running towards Beleg, took him into his arms. The Elf closed his eyes as sorrow and joy blazed suddenly in his heart as one. He wished to take Túrin and kiss him but could not. Finally he pushed Túrin away.

"Thou hast come back," Túrin murmured. He fought to find the right words but Beleg smiled at him, and he said nothing more and grinned with happiness. They did not speak of their parting.

* * *

Thereafter the lands around Amon Rûdh became known as Dor-Cúarthol, the Land of Bow and Helm, and for long they dwelt in happiness there and won much renown, for Beleg had brought Túrin the Dragon-helm he had word in Doriath, from which all his enemies fled.

Túrin never sought a woman, nor did he speak of such things, and Beleg pressed him not. He tried to keep from his mind Túrin's words about love between men, but sometimes the pain of his love would overcome him, as when he was tending Túrin's wounds in the dark thoughtful night.

Túrin was the stronger of the two, but he did not have an Elf's skill at speed, and was cut by his enemies more often than Beleg. And the man's body was beautiful to Beleg's eyes, even for the scars from many battles. The Elf thought to himself with empty satisfaction that even if he could never have Túrin as his lover, at least no mortal woman would know Túrin's body as he had.

After he bound Túrin's wounds, he would stroke Túrin's brow and brush the dark hair from his face, hoping the gentleness of his touch did not betray him. Túrin's fell grey eyes would open and Beleg would push his love for the great warrior who lay before him once more into his closed heart, lest Túrin should understand and recoil from his touch.

* * *

Now Beleg lay upon a mantle of his own blood in the dungeon of Angband, thinking of Túrin's unthinking kiss, his last farewell which betrayed his love. Perhaps in Túrin's eyes it was wrong for men to lay beside men, but the mortal man had already broken a custom of his people and befriended many Elven-folk in his years in Doriath. Beleg had felt Túrin's love through that sorrowful kiss, even if the mortal had not yet understood it or felt shame for it.

And through the swoon, and the sear of Anglachel's iron, Beleg had felt a great happiness, to which he still tried to hold as he sank in the ocean of his pain, as he lay on the floor with his throat parched dry from crying out in the darkness, awash in lingering memories of his torment.

But the Dark Lord had also seen Túrin son of Hurin bend over the form of his companion, and the kiss which had in fact betrayed them. And he mused to himself, as he beheld Beleg fallen into a feverous dream of Túrin his beloved, his pale hair bloodied upon the stone floor, that the tortures of the heart were perhaps worse than the tortures of the body.

* * *

A plan had awoken in Morgoth's dark mind. He permitted Beleg to go to Túrin as if in a dream, and so it came to pass that Beleg Cúthalion came to Túrin son of Hurin as he lay sleeping in the shadow of grief below Ered Wethrin. For Morgoth was not satisfied, and though Beleg's pained cries still echoed in the dark deep places of Angband, the Dark Lord wished to wound Beleg in the heart and most of all to add the son of Hurin's voice to the evil music. Ever he envied the strength of Elves, for Beleg healed the wounds of his flesh again and again, and the Dark Lord at last conceived that there was no repairing the wounds of the mind.

"All that is touched by thy hand is touched too by thy doom, and so destroyed, Túrin son of Hurin," Beleg heard himself say as if under a spell as he bound Túrin's hands. For Túrin must think this a figment of his sleeping mind.

He looked down with long-defeated desire at Túrin's face. And as the flame of his love ignited once more in his chest, he reached out a hand and stroked Túrin's brow. Túrin leaned into his hand willingly and Beleg felt a smile falter on his lips. Never would he have wished this, that he could hold Túrin in his arms, for it was beyond hope, and yet now how could it be that the mortal man returned his love? But he knew it to be true, even though it was unsought for.

He lifted Túrin's chin. Túrin was peaceful in his dreamlike state and complied to Beleg's hand. The Elf marveled that Túrin yielded to his touch, for he would not have expected it even if the man had returned his feelings. The son of Hurin was so proud, but perhaps in dreaming he could have no pride. Beleg kissed him, and pressed harder as he felt Túrin's mouth part under his. He tasted then Túrin's familiar fierceness as the mortal kissed him in return.

"Beleg," Túrin pleaded, and all of his memories of torment and pain wheeled past the Elf as he lost himself in the feeling of Túrin's body that he knew so well but had never touched in anything other than the manner of a friend. He kissed Túrin's neck earnestly and opened the man's tunic. He kissed his chest and felt Túrin press a kiss to the top of his head.

Once more he pressed his lips against Túrin's strongly. "Túrin, my beloved," he said, "thou knowest I would follow thee even to a second death."

He saw a great pain and hopelessness cross Túrin's face and knew then Morgoth's plan, for the torture of seeing Túrin thus, believing him dead, was greater than any poisoned knife or scalding burn.

He kissed the mortal's mouth for a third time. Túrin gasped in pleasure under Beleg's hands and his lips as the Elf held him in his arms and made love to him by the Pools of Ivrin.

Beleg stroked Túrin's side tenderly and gazed down into the starlight reflected in the man's dark grey eyes. For the clouds had parted above the lake. Then before Túrin Beleg vanished into the night and was taken back by Morgoth. The mortal strove to break his bonds but it was to no avail. Then Túrin lay upon the ground in a swoon, as one slain at once by bliss and grief[iv], and he fell once more into a dark uneasy sleep with the sweetness of Beleg's love upon his lips.

When he awoke from the dream and the daze of his grief and saw that his hands were unbound, Túrin was smote by shame as if by the hand of the Dark Lord himself—shame at the mistake in the dark night by the black blade of Anglachel, shame at not realizing his love for his beloved companion until it was too late, and shame for that very love, which now haunted him most of all.

* * *

Note: Why is there not more Beleg/Túrin fanfiction? That's the real tragedy here. Heh. Well, anyway. More to come! Let me know what you think!

* * *

[i] Yes, this happened. Túrin kissed Beleg. Go back and check ;) (that is, if you don't already remember the wonderful slashy moment)

[ii] Tolkien quote!

[iii] Tolkien quote!

[iv] Based on a line about Beren when Tinuviel left him after their first meeting in Doriath.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

In Nargothrond Anglachel was reforged and Túrin named it Gurthang, Iron of Death, and took it up as his sword. Ever his memories haunted him, and poisoned thus by Morgoth's dream, he would not take Finduilas as his lover even for his shame. Gwindor remained silent, but he knew that Túrin's heart was split in two by the strike of Anglachel, near Angband in the north, and he knew why he loved not Finduilas in return. He had often cried out Beleg's name in sleep, and Gwindor had seen him press the last desperate kiss to the dead Elf's lips. Gwindor mourned for Finduilas' wasted love, for he looked upon her—as Túrin refused to look into his own wounded heart—with an ache in his chest for feelings unrequited.

For Túrin's arrogance and pride Nargothrond was overthrown, and in his madness and cruelty he slew many undeserving of such fate. For he had been poisoned too by the words and glance of Glaurung, who had seemed to him to have perceived his detestable love, and Túrin had fled to Dor-lómin to protect his kin, with whom at least his love was not shameful. But still Gurthang was not quenched.

After many years Túrin found himself upon the grave of Finduilas, whom he had been unable to save from her pitiless fate, and had thereby betrayed Gwindor's friendship and his parting words ere he died, and too the debt he bore him for leading him out of the mists of his grief. There Túrin renounced his descent and his past, thus hoping to free himself from his curse. He named himself Turambar, Master of Doom, and soon afterwards he met Nienor, cast in a spell of forgetfulness by the dragon, and convinced that he could love a woman and forget his other love, he wooed her and they were married, knowing not that they were brother and sister.

* * *

Morgoth had cast Beleg back into his dark cell and laughed, and the horrid sound reverberated in the air and resounded in the very stone. "Here thou shallt wait until I have further need of thee," he spoke, and with these words the iron doors crashed shut. "And whilst thou wait for thy doom, forget not that Túrin son of Hurin is ashamed of his love. Forget not, thou vile creature!"

Beleg was plunged into darkness, and just as Hurin was forced to look outwards and see the sorrowful fate of his kin, Beleg was forced to look within, knowing not what befell his beloved friend and grieving at the unknown sorrow. For years thus he suffered in gloom impenetrable.

* * *

Túrin stood by the fallen body of Glaurung and gazed at his black sword. Brandir and Mablung's words echoed in his mind. He heard their voices far-off in a world full of cries. It was true—Nienor had cast herself into the Taeglin and would not return. Leaves were falling down into the teeth of the ravine, and he fell to his knees and wept, beseeching Gurthang thus[i]:

"Wouldst thou now drink my blood, Iron of Death, and avenge thy last master? For Túrin Turambar no longer deserves life, and destroys all that he touches."

The black sword answered not. Túrin gazed at his reflection in its dark mirror and forsook all hope, seeing the madness and grief there reflected in his eyes.

"Beleg Cúthalion, most beloved, now I come to join thee. Nay, not even to join thee, for now I must go whither thou cannot follow beyond the confines of this world."

There, above the ravine of Cabed-en-Aras, and the cruel Taeglin who had forever taken his beloved sister from him, he cast himself upon the point of the evil sword. But it betrayed him, and pierced instead his side. He fell in a swoon by the huge corpse of the dragon in a pool of his own blood and lay there for how long he knew not.

* * *

Túrin woke, and thought he woke in the past or in some dream, for he lay in the old dwelling upon Amon Rûdh in the land that was once Dor-Cúarthol. He wondered if he woke in death. Then, from the light of the door stepped a figure, and upon his shoulder he held a great bow. Beleg Cúthalion knelt by Túrin's bed and the mortal stared with apprehension and disbelief as if at an illusion.

"Either I am dead, and what strange death that would be, for thou art Elfkind and I am of the race of men, or we have both returned from death to this place. Each is stranger still. Beleg…?"

The Elf spoke and Túrin knew it without a doubt to be him. "None can return from the dead save Luthien and her mortal love Beren, but perhaps we have done so nevertheless," Beleg murmured, resting his hand upon Túrin's brow, as he smiled slightly. "Thou art alive, Túrin, and awake."

Túrin recoiled from his touch and felt sudden humiliation, for under the blankets and furs, he lay wounded and naked and weak. "Do not touch me," he snapped.

Beleg's eyes showed an old, piercing sadness. "Túrin, my friend, why dost thou shrink back from my hand? Thou hast said that it is wrong for men to lay beside men, as for a man to befriend an Elf, but thou hast done both with me."

Túrin looked at him in confusion. "Thou liest. I have not done so!"

"Nay, it is true, for the dream years ago was no dream…" Beleg cast aside his eyes. "Túrin…" he murmured, turning back to the mortal, "Unless thou meanest to deny our friendship as well." Túrin's face grew dark with shame and he lifted his hand to cover his face as he felt back on his elbow with a cry of pain. Beleg moved to catch him but he held out his hand again in warning. "Túrin," Beleg pleaded, and the mortal's grave expression faltered. "Art thou ashamed of me?"

The man swallowed hard and then cast himself back on the furs of his bed, gritting his teeth as new blood began to flow under his bandage. "Didst thou bind my wounds?"

"Aye."

"Didst thou…Didst thou touch me?"

Anger flared in Beleg's eyes. "Not other than the manner of binding wounds, but thou hast forgotten that already I have touched thee as a lover. Will thou not embrace me as an old friend at least?"

Túrin began to tear at the bandages on his side. "Nay!" he cried. "For it is wrong—both are wrong! Wrong for men to lay beside men or Elves!" Blood stained his hands as he pulled away the cloth. Beleg seized his wrists and overpowered him if only for Túrin's weakened state.

"Túrin!" he cried in anguish. He gripped the man's shoulders forcefully. "Some black spell still lies upon thee!"

The man tried to wrest him off but Beleg strove against him and overpowered him once more. Túrin fell back with a gasp of pain and his eyes cleared as if from a daze. His head lolled back and shallow breathing lifted his chest.

"Beleg," he choked out, "Art thou really there, or is this another false dream?"

"It was no dream, as this now is no dream," Beleg murmured, and this time Túrin accepted Beleg's hand and clasped it in his own tightly. Beleg lowered his head and kissed the hand and fought back his tears lest they fall on the skin.

He silently bound again Túrin's wound and the man fell into a fevered sleep.

* * *

The dark cell had opened with a light too bright to bear and more horrible than the darkness, and Beleg had fallen back in fear. "Now," Morgoth spoke, "I release thee. All will shun thee and believe thee to be my ally[ii], and the world will become thy iron prison from which thy kind cannot escape. Find thy love and despair!"

Beleg was cast out upon the Gasping Dust, and blinded by light and grief, he fled away into the dark forest. For days he wandered hardly knowing who he was until at last he came to the northern marches of Doriath. There his wounded feet were healed upon the soft ground and old memories came back to him, of Doriath, and Túrin, and his sorrow that had tormented him in the dark cell.

Then Mablung of the Heavy Hand had seen in the forest of Brethil a walking vision of a friend he long thought dead, a shadow wandering as if from the grave. He had called out to Beleg and the Elf recognized his voice as if through a haze.

"Beleg, my friend!" Mablung lamented as he embraced the other Elf. "I thought thee dead, and thou lookest it still!"

A flicker moved in Beleg's eyes and he smiled. "I seek the one who slayed me. Dost thou know any tale of Túrin son of Hurin?"

"Strange are thy words. Aye, he came to me not but a day past."

"Whither did he go?" Beleg demanded. "Please, my friend, I must know, for I love him greatly!"

Mablung gave Beleg a sword and bow and clothed him in warm attire, for the rags that he bore would aid him not against the cold. He barely managed it, for no sooner had he said farewell, then Beleg sped off into the dark, and Mablung grieved at their parting.

Thus it came to be that Beleg Cúthalion found Túrin Turambar beside the great dead body of the dragon above the ravine of Cabed-en-Aras and heard the words Túrin repeated in his deadly swoon: "Nay, not even to join thee, for now I must go whither thou cannot follow beyond the confines of this world."[iii]

"Not yet," Beleg pleaded. He gently lifted the great form of the warrior in his arms and looked at the heavens with scorn. "Thou cannot have him yet, Morgoth!" But in deathly sleep Túrin still grasped the hilt of his evil sword that Beleg had once carried in what now seemed another lifetime, and with it was his doom.

* * *

Túrin awoke shouting Beleg's name desperately upon Amon Rûdh. He found that his face was wet with tears. "Beleg!" he cried once more in his madness.

The Elf ran to his side and took him in his arms. "What troubles thee, Túrin?" he asked, caressing his hand over the man's dark hair.

"I have woken a second time from darkness," Túrin said, gritting his teeth through the pain of his wound, but he could not stop shaking. "And now I wonder that thee still live. How didst thou ever survive the wound of thy own black sword wielded by my cursed hand?"

Beleg told to him the story of his torment in Angband and the means by which Morgoth sought to increase their suffering even through his release. Túrin's hard grey eyes filled with grief that could not be wept in a mortal lifetime and he was silent.

"Almost mad I went with grief in the darkness," Beleg confessed softly. "But for thy love, be it in shame."  
Túrin closed his eyes and leaned against Beleg's shoulder. "Nay, no longer, my friend." He held Beleg tightly in his strong arms. "For I no longer lie under a spell other than my doom. Even if Morgoth's spell laid on me the cloud of shame…" he whispered, "But what sweet torment it was that night, Beleg Cúthalion."

Beleg laughed then in happiness and beheld Túrin before him, still weakened by pain, but with the same fell light in his eyes. "Dost thou…dost thou speak truly?" he faltered.

Túrin lifted a hand to stroke Beleg's face and awkwardly pressed his lips to Beleg's as if for the first time. Trembling, the Elf held Túrin's face as he kissed him in return.

"I wished to die…" Túrin spoke suddenly, and his shoulders were bent as if under a great weight. "For I have only ever destroyed what I love by my touch, and even thou were spared by Morgoth only to suffer further. Oh Beleg, why dost thou follow me?" he implored suddenly in anguish. He stroked the Elf's face again and then withdrew his hand as if to sever his doom from his beloved as he looked at him with cold eyes.

"For I have fallen under thy spell and thy doom, Túrin Turambar," Beleg murmured, and he returned Túrin's hand to his neck. "I loved thee in Doriath as I do now. Do not ask that question of me again, I beseech thee!"

Túrin cast his eyes away in shame. "As thou wishest."

Beleg lifted Túrin's jaw which the mortal clenched with pride or stubbornness Beleg knew not. "Kiss me again, Túrin, my friend," he entreated, "and let it not be the last."

Túrin yielded to his hand and kissed him fiercely. As Beleg gently let Túrin back onto the bed, Túrin's passion melted into deep longing and he caressed Beleg's pale hair. His hands drifted up to Beleg's pointed ears and touched them gently. The Elf smiled down at him.

"At long last I have found thee, Túrin Turambar, and now I shall never leave thy side."

Túrin's grave eyes softened. "And I am glad for it." He smiled grimly and took Beleg once more into his arms.

* * *

Túrin slowly healed and regained his strength, and the wound, poisoned by the dragon's blood upon his own sword, finally closed. He took Beleg's sword and bade the Elf take back Gurthang, urging that it had done no good by him. The black blade now hung at Beleg's side. It glittered still with malice, and a dark waiting cloud hung above the sun in Dor-Cúarthol of doom impending but not yet come.

Beleg swung Gurthang at Túrin and the mortal met its iron with of his own. The ring of their swords sang in the hall upon Amon Rûdh as Túrin pushed Beleg back towards the door. Finally, against the doorjamb, he held up his blade to Beleg's throat in victory.

"I have bested thee again, Elf," he said with a grin.

"Aye, thou hast," Beleg admitted ruefully. "And what dost thou demand of me as victor?"

Túrin smiled and kissed Beleg's lips hard. They dropped their swords upon the threshold, and Gurthang's tip scratched Túrin's foot but he heeded it not. Beleg wrapped his arms around Túrin's waist and pulled him to him. He felt the mortal's mouth open under his and moved his tongue between the open lips. Túrin pushed harder in response and arched his back under Beleg's touch. The Elf broke away to undo Túrin's belt and lift his tunic and Túrin pulled him back toward their bed of wool blankets and furs. Beleg took down the binding on his hair and cast aside his tunic.

"Thou art even fairer than in my dark dream," Túrin spoke, and he lay upon the bed. "Wouldst thou come?"

"Aye," Beleg replied as he came forward and Túrin touched his hair.

The Elf expected some sort of contest, and rightly so, for as he lay with Túrin the man turned him upon his back as they kissed, and he laughed playfully. Beleg, used to Túrin's games, struggled back and ended up on top of the mortal. Túrin's eyes began to close under Beleg's gentle caresses. The Elf kissed his neck tenderly and felt the rise and fall of Túrin's chest under him.

"Wouldst thou bind my hands?" Túrin asked in a low murmur.

"Why dost thou wish it?" Beleg asked breathlessly.

Túrin arched his head back on the pile of furs and turned his face aside. "I would that thou would make me thy prisoner," he whispered. "That I cannot run from thee, or disappear."

"I will do whatever thou wishest," Beleg replied, and pressed kisses to Túrin's neck. He took the mortal's hands and tied them before him.

"Tighter," Túrin beseeched. Beleg obeyed him. "For thou art too gentle with me!"

Beleg's lips returned to his neck and he pushed the mortal onto his stomach. Túrin bowed his head between his bound hands and moaned Beleg's name as the Elf's kisses grew harder against his skin. Beleg felt him arch under his body and pulled Túrin's head back by his dark hair to press his mouth to the mortal man's jaw. The mortal's hair was soft, but disheveled as it usually was. How many times had Beleg smoothed the unkempt hair as he beheld Túrin's beautiful sleeping body? He slid his hands under Túrin's stomach and caressed his chest and his many scars as he covered his back in kisses.

Again he pushed Túrin on his back, more roughly as was Túrin's wish. He ran a hand up Túrin's leg to his hip, and then moved the man's hands behind his head and kissed his mouth forcefully. "Oh Túrin," he murmured against the other's mortal lips, "How strange a fate is love that the imprisoned should lock up the captor? Thy mouth draws me as if by my doom. I…I cannot help but think how long I desired to kiss thee."

"Yet happy is our fortune that thou are no longer truly captive, nor I in a dream," Túrin replied, and a fevered flush was in his face and his fell dark eyes. "Wouldst thou now love me as thou did by the Pools of Ivrin, and let me in waking know finally thy love?"

Beleg replied, "Aye, and more."

* * *

In the dim light of morning, Túrin beheld Beleg beside him. The Elf's face was peaceful, his eyes closed, his blonde hair spread out beneath him. Túrin solemnly lifted a hand to place a lock of the hair behind Beleg's pointed ear and caressed it gently. His grave eyes wandered down Beleg's neck to his chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, lest he wake the Elf, he pulled back the blanket. There was the scar engraved upon Beleg's skin many years past under the lightning and rain. The memory flashed before Túrin's eyes, and he pressed his lips to the Elf's skin softly. When he looked up, Beleg's eyes had opened.

"What is it, my friend? Why art thou so grave?"

Túrin smiled suddenly and his eyes flickered. "Nay, I am not. Just careful not to wake a sleepy Elf."

Beleg laughed and pushed Túrin away lightheartedly. "It is thou that sleepest excessively, mortal."

Túrin lowered his eyebrows challengingly. "Then why it is that I am not as beautiful as thou?"

"It is the ears," Beleg replied with mock-sincerity and Túrin's severe expression broke into a grin.

* * *

In the dim light of morning, Túrin had beheld Beleg sleeping in their tent. Between the close trees of Doriath the wind blew and disturbed the Elf not, for he lay as if in a peaceful dream. Túrin suddenly wished to touch him, and was drawn to do so for a reason he knew not, but took his hand back finally in apprehension.

Beleg awoke. "Didst thou sleep, friend?" he murmured, and Túrin cast aside his sober gaze.

"Nay, for some feeling of foreboding haunts my sleep."

"It is because thou knowest thee can never best me at archery."

Túrin smiled involuntarily. "I accept thy challenge."

Beleg returned the smile with a touch of sadness. "Thou should smile more, Túrin, for it befits thee well."

"Then I shall smile more for thee," Túrin replied, "especially if it is because I beat thee, pointy-ear."

* * *

"Wouldst thou tell me…"

Túrin raised his eyes to the Elf's face. "Tell thee what?" He put aside his sword, which he had been sharpening.

Beleg paused. "Not more than a few moons ago, I found thee…" He stopped and smiled. "Truly thou hast become a great warrior, for the Túrin I used to know did not slay dragons." Túrin smiled not at his words, but waited, as the happiness at old memories drained from Beleg's eyes like a wave receding.

"I found thee…" and Beleg's voice caught in his grief as he knelt before Túrin. "By the dragon covered in thy own blood and the foul stench of death. Thou still hast not told me all that befell thee while I waited in my dark cell, for that was my torment—not knowing thy fate, and grieving for it. Whence came the dragon, and by what evil fate had thou to slay it?" He searched Túrin's steady grey eyes. "What else has happened to thee, Túrin? For we have been parted many years."

The mortal broke his eyes away as they filled with great darkness. "Must thou know, Beleg?" he cried. "Is that not also the Dark Lord's punishment?"

The Elf took the side of Túrin's face. "Nay! Thou must tell me, I beg thee!"

Túrin beheld with sad eyes the tall Elf bowed before him in entreaty, and put his hand over Beleg's. "I cannot truly refuse anything to one who has followed me through death and saved me from my own."

He told Beleg of the fall of Nargothrond, and of Glaurung and his evil words, and how Gurthang drank still the blood of those deserving and undeserving by his hand. And he told Beleg of his shame, and how it drove him to Nienor, and through clenched teeth, his strong jaw shaking through his tears, he told Beleg of his despair above the ravine of Cabed-en-Aras.

"Now thou seest how, by the slain body of Glaurung, I saw that all my love had been in wrongdoing!" he cried as he knelt now before the Elf. "How I have taken only disaster with me, and nothing good has befallen those who were ill-fated enough to know me! Now all my kin are lost…fooled by life and a bitter doom[iv]…And I wished to join thee, but the doors of the Halls of Mandos are shut to me, and I faced death alone, without you."

As he bowed his head to Beleg's knees, the Elf pulled him to his chest. "Nay, Túrin, do

not say it—"

"Beleg—" Túrin clenched his fists in anger. "I did not mean that our love is in

wrongdoing—"  
"Thou dost not need say it!" Beleg spoke. "For I know thy heart, and I do not grieve for myself but for thee!"

Túrin opened his eyes, and proud they still looked even for the tears. "Yet…I must ask thee…" He faltered. "Art thou angry with me for marrying another be it in error?"

Beleg gripped his arm. "How foolish is thy human heart, Túrin son of Hurin! Nay! Nay!" He took Túrin once more in his arms. "For thee are mine now, and that part of thy doom at least is past."

* * *

Note: Hope you enjoyed it! Please review my friieeendsss.

* * *

[i] A couple of these lines are references to _Harvest of Sorrow_ by Blind Guardian, a German heavy metal band who did an entire album based on the Silmarillion. Yeah. You better go check them out. They are AMAZING. Nightfall in Middle-earth is one of the coolest, nerdiest things to ever happen.

[ii] This was Morgoth's punishment for Húrin, whom he also released.

[iii] The spirits of Men go beyond the World into the Void, while the spirits of Elves remain in the Halls of Mandos.

[iv] Another reference to _Harvest of Sorrow_.


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